


A Crush Is Not the End of the World

by thekeyholder



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They get a new classmate and Crowley <i>kind of</i> likes him. Anathema figures this out in 0.3 seconds and makes everything possible to befriend the mysterious Swede.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crush Is Not the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ylc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/gifts).



> I always wanted to write a highschool AU, so I hope I didn't fail. :) (Also, if someone could explain why my GO exchange stories are always so long...xD)

As each September in the past ten years, he walked morosely towards school, kicking a pebble in his way. He puckered up his lips at the sight of the hated building – through his sunglasses it looked as dark as it truly was. It wasn’t really the institution that he disliked, but the people. They were so ordinary, boring and conceited. He shuddered just thinking about them. All of them. All right, maybe not _all_. There was this girl, Anathema, who was bearable. Although, sometimes he needed to tell her to stop rambling. Good lord, that girl could talk for hours!

 

He sighed as he entered the crowded schoolyard. He never really understood why the whole school had to take part in the opening ceremony – it was interesting only for the first graders and their overexcited parents. At least he could listen to music, he smirked to himself as he fished for his headphones in his bag, then get his timetable after the ceremony and go home. He could even go back to bed. That thought alone kept him alive.

 

“Anthony! Anthony!”

 

He turned round as someone grabbed his left arm. Not in the least surprised he noticed that it was Anathema and he took out his earbuds.

 

“Anthony! Oh wow, it _is_ you!”

 

“Told you, it’s Crowley,” he sighed.

 

“Holy moly, what did you do this summer, Anthony? You’re so tall!”

 

Crowley sighed. Anathema was scanning his whole body, making him feel rather uncomfortable. He was aware of the too short sleeves of his coat and didn’t need to be reminded of the fact that he became a giant. It was strange, being taller than the majority of people there. He would never ever be able to sneak away unnoticed.

 

“And your hair! I love it! Told you you’d look nice if you let it grow a bit.”

 

“Thanks,” Crowley grumbled. “Yours looks great too.”

 

Anathema’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you think so? It’s just a toner, so the colour won’t stay for long, but I read this trick on the internet…”

 

And on she went, talking about the difficulty of finding the perfect shade, and Crowley was dutifully nodding, looking slightly bored on the outside, but he’d realisedin that moment just how great it was to hear her ramble again. He spent most of his summer holiday in Italy, with his dad and his new family, so he kind of missed her.

 

“By the way, have you heard we have a new classmate?”

 

“Nope.” He wasn’t really interested, to be honest. Just another moron, surely.

 

“He comes from Sweden.”

 

That made Crowley look up. “And what is he doing in our boring little town?”

 

“Getting a proper education, I guess.”

 

They both laughed. Luckily, the ceremony was soon over and the masses rushed into the school. Anathema and Crowley lagged behind, walking at a leisurely pace. As they made their way towards their classroom, Anathema told Crowley about the week she spent in a music camp where she met a guy, Newt. Nothing like that, she protested early on, but Crowley knew better, and just grinned from ear to ear.

 

Anathema shook her head, her reddish curls bouncing wildly as she entered the classroom. Then her eyes rested on two figures by the windows: one of them was Mrs. Zhang, their form teacher, and the other one a stranger. It was not difficult to deduct that it was their new classmate, but they overheard Anca and Patricia talking about how hot the new guy was.

 

“Well, he certainly fits my mental image of cute Swedish boys,” Anathema whispered, still staring.

 

Crowley agreed, except the cute part, of course. The guy was quite tall – albeit nowhere as tall as Crowley was – had longish blonde hair which curled oh so perfectly at the ends and was dressed as a gentleman from a few decades before. He turned his head suddenly, his eyes peering over his glasses at the silly-looking girl and boy who were gawking at him, smiled briefly, and then turned towards Mrs. Zhang again.

 

Anathema and Crowley quickly looked elsewhere, trying to hide their blush. Crowley didn’t want to spend too much time analysing his reaction, so he quickly looked for the timetable with his name on it. He checked if the information was correct. He had dropped French, and decided to start learning Italian instead, to his dad’s great joy. It was about time; he got sick that he didn’t understand much every time he travelled to Italy. But next time, he’d just walk in there and amaze his stepsister and cousins with his language skills.

 

“Satisfied with your timetable?” Anathema asked, poking him.

 

Crowley turned the paper towards her.

 

“Hey, that’s not fair! You only have classes till 12 on Friday?”

 

After a quick glance at Anathema’s timetable, Crowley grinned. “Well, some people get to be lazy while others have violin practice and become famous artists.”

 

Anathema narrowed her eyes, but then she smiled, timidly at first, then her smile grew and Crowley just laughed as she hugged him.

 

* * * * *

 

The next day, school started for real. Crowley thought to himself that if that day passed, he would only have to survive another three days and then the weekend would come. It probably wasn’t a good thing to think like that on the first week, he admitted sleepily.

 

“Uh, sorry, do you know where room 1.51 is?”

 

Crowley looked down, surprised. It was the Swedish guy with a piece of paper in his hands and looking a bit lost. And he had a very English accent.

 

“Yes. I’m heading there myself.” Crowley wondered what was going on with his voice. Is it always this wobbly?

 

“Splendid!”

 

The Swedish guy smiled with relief and put away his timetable, following Crowley diligently. This could have been the perfect occasion to ask something, to strike up a conversation, but Crowley argued in his head that the corridor was too noisy. Besides, the Swedish guy didn’t try either, so maybe he wasn’t into talking with strangers?

 

These thoughts were whirling in Crowley’s confused head as he took a seat, and to his surprise the new guy sat down beside him, even though the class was mostly empty. From the corner of his eye, Crowley noticed that his neighbour took out a book and started reading it. Well, it would be rude to interrupt him, wouldn’t it? So Crowley just leafed through his biology textbook while his other classmates filed in. He suddenly wished that Anathema were there; she always knew what to say. But her focus was on humanities, and especially on music, so she didn’t need biology anymore.

 

Mr. Ecker was a bit late, but that wasn’t anything new. He was a good teacher, but he sucked at time management. As always, he ran into the class profusely apologising for his delay. At least it was only their first lesson and they wouldn’t be doing too much. Crowley leaned back against his chair as the teacher explained what they would be doing that year.

 

“Okay, I think I said everything I wanted,” Mr. Ecker declared, perusing his papers. “Oh, did I mention that there will be a lot of experiments this year? Yes, and group work. So take a good look at your desk mate, because you’ll be working together for the whole year.”

 

The class started whispering; some people were clearly not satisfied with this announcement. Crowley was surprised, but excited at the same time. He risked a glance at the Swedish guy, who caught his look and seemed quite optimistic, which filled Crowley with relief. At least he didn’t show contempt openly. That was a good sign. Meanwhile, Mr. Ecker started putting down the names of each pair. He knew most students from previous years, but he was clearly stuck when he got to the new student.

 

“Crowley and… uh?”

 

“Aziraphale Holt, sir.”

 

The professor nodded as he jotted down their names and moved to the next table. Crowley knitted his brows… hmm, don’t all Swedish surnames end in “son”? Or maybe the guy wasn’t from Sweden after all? The gossip machine could have got it wrong, as in so many cases. But his name was strange anyway. What was it? Aziraphale? Poor guy, his parents were not very considerate, were they? But then Crowley remembered his own first name – which was somewhat better, but he still disliked it. He took pride in the fact that most people only knew him by his surname.

 

He didn’t even hear the bell ring, just noticed that people started packing their things. Crowley put away his things, stealthily watching as his desk mate shrugged on his coat. Then suddenly Aziraphale turned to him, raised his hand in salute, and disappeared without a word. Crowley looked at the back of Aziraphale’s head, at his curls, then shook his head. He had double Chemistry next, he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

 

* * * * *

 

Wednesday was a good day from two points of view: it was getting close to Friday and Crowley had classes with Anathema almost the whole day. The latter could prove to be a disadvantage, though, Crowley suspected. Anathema had texted him to come to her house, so they would go together to class. It was all right until she remembered halfway to school that she forgot her copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ at home, and of course Crowley was dragged back too. They had to run back and even so, they were almost late for History. Which wouldn’t have been too big of a tragedy since Mr. Leroy always ended up talking about the second world war, no matter what was in the curriculum. They found a free table at the back of the class from where they could see everyone, though Crowley was mostly interested in a certain blonde person.

 

Next, Crowley had Italian while Anathema hurried to her Art class, promising to meet Crowley on the second floor in the break to have lunch and then go to their English class together. Crowley was a bit worried about starting a new language. He wasn’t really good at them, but at least he got somewhat used to French after so many years (although the pronunciation was still a problem). He didn’t see any familiar faces, mostly because everyone looked younger than him. Great, just another class where he would feel out of place.

 

However, the teacher proved to be really awesome and the forty-five minutes just flew away after Crowley stopped worrying when he realised that everyone sounded funny with their English accents. He looked forward to the next class on Friday. Crowley told everything to Anathema while they had lunch, and in exchange she described her new, hot Art teacher.

 

“So you’re cheating on Newt?” Crowley asked, grinning.

 

Anathema blushed. “Shut up, he’s just a friend.”

 

Crowley continued grinning, dodging when Anathema tried to swat him. His eyes fell on Aziraphale, sitting alone, his nose buried in a book. His smile died and he gulped, but he quickly looked back at his friend, hoping that she didn’t notice his reaction. For some reason it reminded Crowley of himself, when he was also “banished” to the lonely table. But he lacked the courage of Anathema who years ago had just sat down beside him, not caring about the dark aura surrounding him. His thoughts kept returning to Aziraphale sitting alone, even when the boy was no longer there.

 

Anathema, trying to make up for the morning fiasco, didn’t even let Crowley finish his muffin, so that they would arrive to class in time. It was quite loud inside, even though there weren’t more than ten people. The source of the noise turned out to be Crowley’s least favourite people, Hastur and Ligur, who were bragging about their summer holidays, their idiotic minions listening to them and laughing at their stupid jokes. He was still looking at them when Anathema called for him.

 

She had already found free seats… beside Aziraphale. Crowley tried desperately to send signs with his eyes that he didn’t want to sit there, but it was impossible to argue with Anathema. Luckily, Aziraphale didn’t notice anything as he was reading (again!), but he did send a timid smile Crowley’s way when he greeted him. Crowley took out his copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , glaring at Anathema behind Aziraphale’s back. He really hated this room with the old-fashioned desks that had three seats instead of two.

 

Anathema just smiled, not bothered in the least, and presented herself to her new colleague: “Hi, I’m Anathema and that grumpy guy is Anthony.”

 

“Crowley. And I’m not grumpy.”

 

“Sorry. Crowley,” Anathema rolled her eyes. “He’s a bit sensitive.”

 

“Hi. My name’s Aziraphale. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Wow, you have an interesting name!”

 

Crowley was getting suspicious. What was Anathema doing?

 

Aziraphale blushed. “Well, I was named after my great-grandpa on my mum’s side.”

 

“Aha… so Anthony and I heard you’re from Sweden, is that true?”

 

Crowley looked at Anathema sharply. What was this, an interrogation?

 

Aziraphale placed the bookmark in his book carefully before answering. “It’s a bit complicated. I lived there for the past eight years.”

 

“But you were born here?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That explains the English accent,” Anathema smiled. “So there’s no Swedish blood running in your veins?”

 

“My mum’s Swedish.”

 

“Cool. So how come you came back to the UK?”

 

Crowley couldn’t hold back anymore. “Anathema, don’t you think you’re a bit too curious?” It didn’t matter that he was also dying to find out the answer to that question, but Anathema might have come off as unashamed.

 

Aziraphale chuckled as he turned left to look at Crowley. “It’s fine, I don’t mind it. We moved to Sweden when my dad was appointed the ambassador of the UK in Sweden. And now we moved back. No big deal.”

 

Crowley and Anathema looked at each other. Neither of them would describe this as “no big deal”. It was. Posh kids didn’t go to their school; they went to those expensive boarding schools to learn how to become proper knobheads. But as far as they could tell, Aziraphale didn’t seem conceited and definitely didn’t look down on other people. Anathema then changed the subject and started an animated discussion with Aziraphale on _Pride and Prejudice_.

 

Although secretly he was grateful for her intervention, Crowley didn’t agree with Anathema’s methods. As they were walking home from school, Crowley thought about the best way to let her know to be more discreet next time.

 

“You know, even though he said he didn’t mind your interrogation, I don’t think you should bother Aziraphale like that.”

 

Anathema smiled slyly. “Oh, but I was just doing you a favour, dear Anthony.”

 

And now the use of his first name. She clearly meant to upset him. “How so?”

 

“Well, I’ve known you for years and it’s not really difficult to notice when you’re ogling someone since most of the time you don’t even deign to look at people.”

 

Crowley stopped in his tracks.

 

“I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?”

 

“Like hell you did,” Crowley protested, adjusting his sunglasses. “He’s just new. I wanted to see if he’s any good or trash like the others.”

 

“Aha, _sure_. And did he pass your test?”

 

“I guess,” Crowley replied in a faux bored voice.

 

“With flying colours, I bet.”

 

Crowley just shook his head as Anathema laughed heartily.

 

* * * * *

 

Days passed and Crowley – as much as he hated to admit it – liked Aziraphale more and more. Every detail that he found out about the blonde, mostly thanks to the conversations Anathema had started, fascinated him. Crowley even managed to ask a few questions himself, and although Aziraphale always answered him willingly, for some reason he would always retreat in his shell afterwards, and would only speak if someone asked him. It made Crowley wonder if they really didn’t bother Aziraphale with their nosiness. When he mentioned it to Anathema, though, she just waved her hand:

 

“Don’t worry about that. I think he’s just really shy. Remember, he’s just recently moved back and everything is very new for him. He needs some time to adjust. Besides, he probably had friends back in Sweden whom he must miss.”

 

If it was possible, Anathema’s response troubled Crowley even more. It seemed like they were even more inconsiderate than he previously imagined and Aziraphale was just too polite to say anything. However, he was roused from his train of thoughts when Aziraphale entered the class and walked up to their desk promptly, despite the many free seats available. Crowley smiled with relief; at least he knew Aziraphale didn’t hate them. He even asked Anathema if he could take his ‘usual’ seat between the two of them. And if Crowley broke out in a smile randomly the entire day, well, it was because he couldn’t control himself.

 

* * * * *

 

It was the end of the second week of school and Crowley packed his things quickly in his backpack after his last class. His nana had called and complained to his mum that her grandson had forgotten her. Crowley rolled his eyes, but he knew she was kind of right: he hadn’t visited her in over three weeks. He went to the florist’s first and bought a nice bouquet to placate his nana. Secretly, he was hoping that she really wasn’t upset with him and that she baked his favourite cookies. Just as he imagined eating a whole plate of white chocolate – cranberry cookies, he became aware of familiar voices coming from the other side of the road.

 

“What’s the matter, poof? You don’t like it when others borrow your stuff?”

 

“Please, put down my bag.”

 

Crowley stopped abruptly. There was a small park across the road, usually empty, but sadly that day it was polluted by the presence of Ligur and Hastur who decided to terrorise Aziraphale by taking away his bag from him. Without even considering the risks, Crowley crossed the road with firm steps.

 

“That’s enough, morons. Get out of here.”

 

“Ah, the flash bastard…in the flesh,” Ligur said and cackled with Hastur at his dumb joke.

 

“Don’t look so sad, poof, look, he even brought you flowers!”

 

“How sweet! What a gentleman!”

 

“Cut the crap and give back the bag. Now,” Crowley hissed and stepped closer to the two bullies, towering over them.

 

Hastur looked around and grimaced at their obvious disadvantage. He exchanged a look with Ligur. “Jeez, we were just joking, ass-hat. Anyway, here’s the bag.”

 

Crowley extended his arm, but Hastur, instead of giving it to him, threw the bag up in the air. It promptly got tangled in the branches of an oak tree. Without waiting to see if it would fall back down, Hastur and Ligur buggered off. Crowley clenched his fists and was about to run after them, but Aziraphale touched his forearm.

 

“Don’t bother, dear. It’s not worth the effort.”

 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale and saw no vengeance in his clear eyes, but he couldn’t hold back some swearing, especially when he looked up at the bag. It didn’t seem to be too high; maybe if he managed to jump and shake the branches a bit…

 

“Here,” he said and gave Aziraphale the bouquet, eyeing the bag suspiciously.

 

It took Crowley about five minutes, but in the end the bag dropped on his head. Aziraphale asked worriedly if he was all right.

 

“What do you keep in it, rocks?”

 

“Books,” the blonde answered with a blush.

 

Crowley stroked his head, then offered Aziraphale his bag and took back his bouquet. He nodded behind his sunglasses at the boy and was about to leave.

 

“Crowley?”

 

He turned back.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

“See you on Monday?”

 

“Sure. Ciao.”

 

He smiled, despite the dull ache throbbing on the left side of his head. He looked at his watch and ran to his nana’s, because he knew she didn’t like it when people were late.

 

* * * * *

 

“Hello.”

 

Crowley looked up from the game he was playing and knitted his eyebrows.

 

“Hi. Uhm… isn’t this the Italian class?”

 

Aziraphale smiled. “It is. I talked to the headmaster and asked her if I could take another language instead of Physics and she agreed to it. So here I am.”

 

“Wise choice. I couldn’t wait to drop it either.”

 

The blonde sat down beside him and took out his things. “Do you like this class? How’s the teacher?”

 

“It’s really fun most of the time, I guess because we’re still at the beginning. And the teacher is young and amusing, so I’m sure you’ll like her.”

 

“Great. Oh, do you mind sharing the textbook? I’m going to get mine only next week.”

 

Crowley pushed his book to the middle. “Of course not.”

 

“So what did I miss?” Aziraphale asked, looking through the book.

 

“No worries, you can catch up easily. We only did the verb ‘to be’ and ‘to have’ and different greetings.”

 

The teacher came in, so Crowley continued in a whisper, as he explained Aziraphale the conjugations.

 

“Antonio! _Silenzio, per favore_!

 

Crowley blushed to the roots of his hair. He had forgotten that his teacher insisted on calling them with Italian names. Aziraphale was snickering beside him, but when Crowley looked at him with narrowed eyes the blonde pretended to have a coughing fit. However, he didn’t have to wait too much to have his revenge. The teacher asked the class to pair up and do some exercises from the book. Noticing that he was new, the teacher walked up to Aziraphale’s desk. The blonde explained his situation and the teacher asked him to put down his name in her notebook.

 

“Aziraphale? Did I pronounce it correctly?” she asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _Bene_ , you’ll be Raffaello from now on.”

 

“But…” Aziraphale stared at her in shock while Crowley promptly buried his face in his hands, shaking silently with laughter.

 

Oh, he was going to enjoy Italian classes even more, even though Aziraphale glared at him from behind his glasses. At the end of the lesson, however, in order to placate him, Crowley invited his classmate to have lunch with him and Anathema.

 

Aziraphale smiled sweetly. “Let’s go, Antonio.”

 

* * * * *

 

Days and weeks passed, and just like Anathema had predicted, Aziraphale became much more open. He smiled more often and to Crowley’s great pleasure, their talks actually became real conversations where it wasn’t just Crowley doing the questioning. The subject that made Aziraphale talk the most was books, but Crowley didn’t mind it: he loved listening to Aziraphale’s soft voice. And even though he was so English it hurt, Crowley distinguished a few sounds in his speech that were definitely influenced by Swedish.

 

Anathema, Crowley and Aziraphale became a common sight. The addition of Aziraphale to the pair didn’t affect the relationship between Crowley and Anathema – if anything, it made them become closer, given Crowley’s, well, troubled feelings towards Aziraphale. He couldn’t talk to anybody about this: his mum was busy, his dad was far away, his nana wouldn’t understand.

 

“I think you’re doing great,” Anathema said one afternoon when Crowley had invited her over to his place to finish their history assignment.

 

“Hardly,” the boy replied, chewing the end of his pen.

 

“Well, excuse me, but six weeks ago you didn’t even know about his existence on this planet and now you’re friends!”

 

Crowley made a grimace. “Yes, but I feel like I’m forever stuck, like I’m just going in a circle. It’s like one of those games where you just can’t figure out how to get to the next level.”

 

“Patience, Anthony. Besides, I genuinely believe Aziraphale likes you. He has this _‘oh, you’_ expression on his face whenever he looks at you.”

 

Crowley snorted. “Right. The _‘oh, you are such an idiot’_ expression, most probably.” He got up and brought the cookie plate closer. “All we ever talk about are books and assignments.”

 

“Better than nothing.”

 

“Oh my god,” Crowley said as he abruptly stopped eating his cookie. “He _bookzoned_ me.”

 

Anathema laughed so hard, she fell off the bed. Crowley laughed with her until tears gathered in the corners of his golden brown eyes. As funny as he found the concept, he couldn’t help that slight ache spreading in his heart.

 

* * * * *

 

The next afternoon, Crowley’s phone rang. It was Anathema.

 

“Hey, Anthony. Are you busy?”

 

“No. What’s up?”

 

“Listen, I have to tell you something, but please don’t be mad.”

 

Crowley frowned. “Okaaay, what happened?”

 

“Well, you know I had violin practice today, from four till six. I don’t think I told you before, but occasionally I would meet Aziraphale on the way home. He sometimes stays in the library. And today, just as I descended the stairs, he came out from the bathroom. At first I thought he didn’t feel well or something, because he was so pale.”

 

Crowley breathed in deeply.

 

“But then I noticed that his coat hung strangely on him and his whole appearance was dishevelled. I asked him what happened, but he refused to speak. In the end he groaned out something about Hastur and Ligur.”

 

“I’m going to kill them!”

 

“No, no, Anthony, listen, I don’t think you should get involved. They probably beat him because you ‘interrupted’ them the last time.”

 

“I don’t care, I’m sick and tired of their bullying!”

 

“Please, don’t do anything rash.”

 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Well, I still have those pictures of them smoking in the school bathroom. I’m sure the headmaster will be delighted to see them.”

 

Anathema remained silent. “I don’t think blackmailing will stop them, though. If anything, it will incite them even more. It would be better if we talked to Aziraphale and told him to confront them in some way or another.”

 

“And get himself beaten?! No, let me deal with this.”

 

* * * * *

 

When Crowley arrived to his biology class, he could notice that Aziraphale was still not feeling quite himself – it even affected his performance. They had a test and Crowley noticed that his desk mate left a few blank spaces which was very unusual since Aziraphale always finished early and got the best grades. He didn’t want to accept Crowley’s help at first, but then he copied the answers and thanked Crowley with his eyes downcast. As he promised, Crowley waited for the two bullies after classes. They laughed in his face when he told them to leave Aziraphale alone.

 

“Or what, you’re going to tell on us to his mama?” Ligur asked with a glint in his eye.

 

“No, I’m going to send the headmaster some very interesting pics of you two.”

 

And then he showed them on his phone, watching with satisfaction as Hastur’s and Ligur’s face turned dark.

 

“You’re going to regret this,” Hastur spat and Ligur punctuated it with a glare.

 

Crowley watched them leave and then texted Anathema: “It’s done.”

 

However, two days later the pair found Aziraphale in the library, gluing his copy of _Lord of the Flies_.

 

“What happened to your poor book?”

 

“Hastur and Ligur, that’s what happened,” Aziraphale said in such an angry voice that Crowley flinched.

 

“Oh darling, I’m so sorry,” Anathema said as she sat down beside Aziraphale and hugged him, while shooting daggers at Crowley.

 

“I’m going to kill those prats!”

 

“No, Anthony, you’re going to sit down, because we need to talk about this,” Anathema said.

 

Aziraphale seemed a bit confused by the tension between his friends, but he leaned back against his chair as Anathema told him that in order for Hastur and Ligur to leave him in peace. He had to face them _alone_ – her eyes settling on Crowley when she said that – otherwise they would always tease him, thinking that he would never fight back. Aziraphale nodded, then returned to fixing his novel.

 

“No worries, I will deal with them. No one messes with my books.”

 

The wintry smile he gave reminded Crowley of an avenging angel, making him swear never ever to get in Aziraphale’s bad books.

 

* * * * *

 

Crowley had so much homework to do that – not bearing the stress – he instead decided to take a nap. An hour later, however, he received a call from a very excited Anathema.

 

“Anthony, you need to see this with your own eyes!”

 

“Hmm?” Crowley asked sleepily.

 

“Aziraphale, he, oh my god, he asked Hastur and Ligur to go with him in an empty classroom.”

 

Crowley jumped out of his bed. “What? And you let him?”

 

“No, no, you don’t understand. It’s completely the opposite. He made them sit down… oh, for Christ’s sake, just carry your arse here, you need to see this with your own eyes!”

 

Crowley couldn’t imagine why Anathema sounded so amused, but he really hoped that Aziraphale made the bullies pay. He certainly wanted to see that with his own eyes, so he ran to the school. He found Anathema peering through the small window on a classroom door.

 

“What did I miss?” Crowley whispered as he joined her.

 

“Oh, just the best thing in the world.”

 

Crowley looked inside: it was a very colourful classroom and he snickered when he saw Hastur and Ligur crouching on tiny chairs at lime green benches that were clearly designed for much smaller children. Aziraphale was perched on the desk in front of them, talking in what seemed a calm and warm manner. What stunned Crowley to silence, however, were the expressions on the boys’ face: their heads were downcast as in guilt, and they nodded from time to time at Aziraphale’s words. It seemed like Ligur even wiped away a tear.

 

Aziraphale got up, so Crowley led Anathema quickly behind the corner, not wanting to be caught spying on their friend. The pair looked in wonder as the door opened and Aziraphale shook hands with the boys. Ligur even went so far as to hug Aziraphale which made Crowley draw in a sharp breath. What in the name of God had happened inside? Hastur and Ligur said their cheery goodbyes and Crowley could swear that their eyes were red, but they left smiling. Aziraphale looked very pleased as he zipped up his coat and exited the building.

 

Anathema and Crowley walked home silently. If anyone had told them that Aziraphale was a wizard, they would have readily believed it.

 

* * * * *

 

It seemed like Aziraphale’s method was effective and no one would ever bother him. Without the threat of bullying looming over his head, his cheer and brilliant smile returned. Crowley and Anathema were dying of curiosity; they could not even imagine what Aziraphale could have said to Hastur and Ligur. They would probably never find out, not without revealing themselves.

 

Tests became ever more frequent and Crowley was behind with his reading list. He felt as if everyone was coping better; Anathema had rehearsals with the school orchestra three times a week and yet still managed to do her schoolwork as well. Not even mentioning Aziraphale; he was always ahead of everybody. Crowley barely read a hundred pages of _Lord of the Flies_ when the blonde had already started the next book on their reading list. Crowley started panicking, but Aziraphale assured him that he could still catch up.

 

“But when do you have time to read so much?” Crowley asked, eating soup, reading the novel and talking to his friend at the same time.

 

“Well, I don’t watch TV, just read in the evening.”

 

Crowley groaned. “Ugh, I’ll never finish this, so I’m going to fail and then my mum will surely kill me. Please, say only nice things at my funeral.”

 

Aziraphale laughed and patted Crowley’s shoulder. “Come on, I know you can do it!”

 

Crowley smiled, grateful for the encouragement and especially the accompanying touch.

 

* * * * *

 

It was a grey Friday afternoon in November and Crowley was sitting at his desk, looking at a picture of a Bentley on his laptop and trying to draw it. He had finished reading _Lord of the Flies_ and decided that he deserved to do something fun. He didn’t think he was very skilled, but when he drew he could disconnect from the world. He heard the front door open – it was his mum, returning from work. Crowley padded to the kitchen where his mum was taking out the groceries from a bag, and he put his hands over her eyes.

 

“Guess.”

 

“Someone with cold hands,” his mum replied.

 

“Wrong answer. Two tries left.”

 

“Anthony Jacopo Crowley.”

 

“Aww, mum, you’re no fun!” Crowley complained as he took away his hands. “I told you my middle name is never to be uttered again. I still can’t believe you couldn’t find a cooler one.”

 

His mum laughed. “Blame your father; he wanted you to have an Italian name as well.”

 

“Yes, but why couldn’t he choose something like Leonardo or Marcello? Anyway, what’s for dinner?”

 

“How about homemade pizza?”

 

“Sounds fantastic.”

 

Crowley was about to go back to his room, but his mum called after him, “Come and sit here with me while I make the dough, so I don’t get bored.”

 

“Okay, let me just get this book and my notebook so I can do something useful too.”

 

He looked in his backpack, but he couldn’t find it. It wasn’t on his desk either…

 

“Goddamn it!”

 

“Hello, young man, language!”

 

“I think I actually forgot to loan the book. Ah, I can’t believe this!” Crowley whined. “And I need it for Monday.”

 

“Well, isn’t the library open till seven?”

 

“Six on Fridays.”

 

“You still have time. Go!”

 

Crowley hurried and got there with thirteen minutes before closing. He took off his scarf and his sunglasses, panting and wiping his forehead. How he hated running. He went to the shelf and found the “vanished” book, grimacing at it for making him run to the library on a Friday afternoon. He was checking out his book when he noticed a familiar blonde crown of hair at the back of the library.

 

“Aziraphale? Why are you still here on a Friday?”

 

“Oh, hi. Umm… I… I don’t know. My parents are at a conference for the whole weekend, so I guess I didn’t want to go home.”

 

Crowley’s face fell, but he tried to hide it. “Would you like to come to my place?”

 

“Are you sure? Am I not disturbing you?”

 

“Of course not. Just hurry up, ‘cause I think Mrs. Thomas wants to kick us out,” Crowley whispered, looking at the librarian from the corner of his eyes.

 

Aziraphale giggled and they were outside in a couple of minutes, walking briskly in the cold evening. Crowley hated that it was getting dark so early.

 

“Crowley, may I ask you something?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why do you always wear sunglasses outside?”

 

Crowley smirked. The million dollar question had been asked. “Because I look more awesome?”

 

Aziraphale smiled, pulling up the hood of his coat. “If you say so… at least you don’t wear them in the school.”

 

“I used to, but my teachers complained, and I had to find other ways to be awesome.”

 

“I’m glad you were successful.”

 

Crowley blushed and his ice-cold fingers fumbled with the door key. He let Aziraphale enter first, and soon both of them were hit by the warm, rich smell of the pizza.

 

“Uh, Crowley, are you sure it’s okay that I came over?” Aziraphale whispered, wringing his hands.

 

“Of course.”

 

Then Crowley shouted to his mother: “Mum, I met Aziraphale in the library and I invited him over. You’re cool with it, right?”

 

Ms. Crowley came from the kitchen bearing a huge grin. “Of course, darling. I finally get to meet you,” she said, turning to the blonde. “Anthony and Anathema don’t stop talking about you.”

 

Aziraphale laughed and glanced at his friend who was suddenly very red, then shook hands with Ms. Crowley.

 

“The pizza will be ready in ten minutes. I’ll bring it to your room, okay?”

 

“Thanks, you’re the best!” Crowley said and winked, then led Aziraphale to his room.

 

He knew what would attract Aziraphale’s attention first, and he expected a comment in 3… 2… 1: “Wow, you have so many plants!”

 

Crowley looked amused as his friend went to the window. “Your orchids are so lovely and colourful. Why didn’t you tell me that you practically live in a beautiful garden?”

 

“I guess it’s not something you just simply mention in a normal conversation. It’s not a usual hobby for someone my age, is it?” Crowley shrugged.

 

“That doesn’t matter. It’s very impressive.”

 

Aziraphale’s eyes then settled on a piece of paper on the desk. “Don’t tell me you drew that.”

 

Crowley completely forgot that he left his doodle on display. “It’s just a sketch, nothing good.”

 

“You’re way too modest, Crowley. Consider yourself lucky that we didn’t know each other before, otherwise I would have bribed you to do all my Art assignments. What model is this?”

 

“It’s a Bentley from 1926. I’m more into retro cars,” Crowley admitted.

 

“Yes, it’s very stylish. Great job on the shading. But seriously, do you have other hidden talents I should know about?” Aziraphale asked sweetly.

 

“No. All my secrets have been revealed…”

 

There was a knock on the door and Crowley’s mum brought in the pizzas. The boys sat down on the bed and started eating. A few minutes later, however, Crowley noticed that Aziraphale stopped and was just staring at his plate.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

There was a ghost of a smile on Aziraphale’s face. “Of course. It just occurred to me that this is the first dinner in a month that I’m not eating alone.”

 

“Are your parents always that busy?” Crowley asked quietly.

 

“Most of the time. It was even worse in Sweden, though. I barely got to see dad. I don’t mean to upset you, though,” Aziraphale looked up quickly. “I know it’s not easy for you either.”

 

“It’s all right. So that’s why you stay in the library?”

 

“It’s better than sitting in an empty house. That’s why I also read faster, I guess. I used to stay in the library since I was little and read most of the books, and because of that I can’t say that I was very popular. So having you and Anathema as friends – well, it is a new experience.”

 

Crowley nodded understandingly. It was the same with him before Anathema befriended him; he knew what it meant to be the weird kid. He changed the subject to take Aziraphale’s mind off of unpleasant memories. They talked about school, books and the upcoming show to be given by the school’s orchestra.

 

“I really want to go, not just because Anathema invited me,” Aziraphale said as they exited the room to take the dishes into the kitchen. “Plus they are doing it for a good cause.”

 

“It’s really nice. You heard Anathema play before, but with the orchestra behind her it’s even more impressive.”

 

“Was the pizza good?” Crowley’s mum asked from the living room.

 

“Excellent!” Aziraphale replied.

 

“I’m glad,” Ms. Crowley replied. “Anthony, please bring the mattress from the guest room.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, isn’t Aziraphale staying overnight?”

 

“Oh no, Ms. Crowley, I have imposed on you long enough. I should go…” Aziraphale rushed to say.

 

“Nonsense, it’s late and cold out outside. I’m sure Anthony would love to have you longer, right?”

 

“Yes, of course. Please, Aziraphale, stay.”

 

He could see on the blonde’s face that he wouldn’t be able to refuse him, but he still sent Aziraphale a grateful smile when he accepted. Crowley brought the mattress in his room and then they watched films and talked until Ms. Crowley told them at around midnight that it would be advisable to go to bed. Crowley felt a bit awkward giving Aziraphale one of his pyjamas, even though his friend must have felt the same way.

 

However, Aziraphale laughed when he showed Crowley how long the sleeves were for him. Crowley let Aziraphale take the bed and he lay down on the mattress. They talked even after they turned off the lights, and honestly, Crowley didn’t even know when was the last time he fell asleep so smoothly, to a voice so soft and comforting.

 

* * * * *

 

He couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips after he told Anathema about his unexpectedly great weekend. Crowley saw in his friend’s eyes that she was excited and very happy for him.

 

“Gosh, I can’t believe how close you are to sweeping him off his feet! It’s so sweet! You know what, it’s time to brace yourself up and finally say something! It’s not enough to just sigh during classes and look at him with moony eyes.”

 

“I don’t look at him with moony eyes!” Crowley protested.

 

Judging by Anathema’s expression, she clearly didn’t agree with it. “Listen, you have a little more than a week to muster up your courage and just _do_ something at the concert. There will be a dance party too after we play, so it should be the perfect opportunity.”

 

Crowley liked the idea in theory, but putting it into practice… not so much. What would he say? ‘Aziraphale, I like you.’ ‘Me too, Crowley.’ ‘No, no, I like you on a deeper level.’ ‘Yes, ours is a beautiful friendship.’ He’d probably have to be very clear and specific… it would probably be better if he even wrote down what he wanted to say beforehand. But he couldn’t think about it in that moment.

 

“Are you nervous about the show? Do you still have problems with that piece?” Crowley asked.

 

Anathema sighed. “No, I finally got it, I hope. This might sound crazy, but I’m actually nervous because Newt said he’d come to see the show.”

 

Crowley almost dropped his books. “What? Are you joking?”

 

“I know, right? It’s crazy! He said he doesn’t mind travelling.”

 

“Oh, that boy is serious. Wow. I am really looking forward to this concert!”

 

* * * * *

 

Crowley, standing in front of the mirror, regretted ever saying that sentence. After having watched a video on Youtube, he finally managed to do a knot on his tie on his fifth try. His whole attire was black, except the tie which was bright red. He hated the pimple that was still on his chin even after three days of treating it with various products, but at least his hair looked nice: now it was long enough to comb it back for an elegant appearance. He hurried up, his mum already waiting in the car.

 

Ten minutes later, Crowley walked into the concert hall. He looked around and greeted a few people until he noticed Aziraphale, Anathema and a boy who had to be Newt talking in a corner. He quickly left his coat in the cloakroom and went to his friends.

 

“Anthony! Hi! Look at you, so elegant!” Anathema exclaimed and winked. “Here, let me introduce you to my friend Newt.”

 

Crowley shook hands with the guy who seemed shy and timid, probably the perfect match for Anathema who talked enough for two people. He then looked at Aziraphale properly and noted how well the steel blue suit looked on him, although he didn’t quite understand the tartan bowtie paired with it. It had to be some Swedish thing. Anathema had to go and the audience was let inside. Newt had his seat on the balcony, so he said goodbye to the boys. Aziraphale led the way to their seats and he smiled at Crowley as they sat down.

 

“Hi, Aziraphale! Crowley.”

 

The slightly irritating voice belonged to a girl Crowley vaguely recognised as a colleague from the biology classes. She sat down beside Aziraphale and instantly, they started an animated conversation. Crowley raised his eyebrows; he had seen the girl around Aziraphale before, but didn’t know that they were so friendly with each other. Ten minutes later, Crowley was sulking in his seat. He would have to wait until the end to talk to his friend properly.

 

Finally, the concert began and every conversation stopped. The members of the orchestra and their music teacher came on the stage and everyone occupied their places. When Anathema looked in their direction, Crowley smiled encouragingly at her. They had rehearsed so much, it had to go perfectly. After a few songs, Aziraphale leaned towards Crowley and whispered how talented Anathema was, and Crowley nodded in agreement. She got better every time. The concert was a great success and people applauded the young musicians for a long time, which made Anathema a bit teary.

 

Aziraphale and Crowley tried to navigate through the people who attended the concert and get to the dance hall. It was pretty crowded and music was already playing. Crowley’s stomach clenched repeatedly and he didn’t think he was ready to confess his feelings to his friend. He looked around helplessly.

 

“Hey, I’m going to get some drinks for us, okay?” Crowley said and his friend nodded.

 

In the meantime Crowley repeated the speech in his head, and hoped that he would not mess it up. He was clutching two glasses of juice and tried to go back without spilling them on himself when he noticed that Aziraphale was not alone anymore. That annoying girl who sat beside him was talking to Aziraphale, and touching her hair and giggling and fluttering her fake eyelashes. And Aziraphale had a smile on his face! But then the girl took his hand and dragged him to the dance floor. In Aziraphale’s defence, though, he looked around quite helplessly.

 

Nevertheless, Crowley was flooded by a disappointment so bitter he couldn’t even move for a good minute. He then put down the glasses and walked out with firm steps, without even looking back. He took his coat from the cloakroom and vanished without anyone noticing him. He texted Anathema, praising her for her brilliant performance, but he couldn’t stay for he had a nasty migraine. Crowley took out his sunglasses from his pocket and walked silently home. Rage boiling in his system, he hissed at the ugliest plant in his room, banished it to the living room and locked the door.

 

* * * * *

 

Aziraphale had called him and texted him, but Crowley only answered the next day, giving him the same lame excuse as to Anathema. Aziraphale messaged him that he hoped Crowley would feel better soon. Anathema, however, didn’t give up and phoned him on his home number. His mum, of course, picked it up and told Anathema that Crowley was fine, albeit in a foul mood. Then he had to confess everything.

 

“Oh, Anthony, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not interested! You yourself said that the girl practically pounced on him. I must tell you, Aziraphale was really worried when you disappeared. He came running to me and that’s when I noticed your message. He didn’t even stay long after that.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Anathema. I guess he’s just not into relationships. Who knows, maybe he doesn’t like boys. Or he’s asexual. Whatever. I’ll… I’ll try to think of him just as a friend. He’s a nice guy after all.”

 

“Please, don’t give up.”

 

* * * * *

 

Monday morning was a bit awkward when Crowley had to face Aziraphale. He seemed the same, kind young man and his first question was if Crowley felt better – as Anathema said, he was genuinely concerned. He didn’t even dare look in Aziraphale’s pale blue eyes. How could he? Even his soft voice hurt Crowley, now that he realised that he would never have him. At least he only had to survive one week of school and then maybe he could forget him in the winter break.

 

Crowley tried to keep his distance and remained quiet most of the time when Aziraphale would join them. He felt his friends’ eyes on him, but he couldn’t look into them, lest all his feelings would be instantly known. Anathema chided him when they were alone, but Crowley gradually slipped into self-pity. They were watching Aziraphale from afar, as he was talking with Mrs. Zhang.

 

“Now, now, Anthony, don’t look so crestfallen! A crush is not the end of the world!”

 

“Well, it certainly feels that way!” Crowley exclaimed. “I mean just look at his stupid smile and his beautiful, _ssstupid_ face and I can’t even be upset with him! I hate him for it! He’s just too nice.”

 

Anathema just sighed and leaned against Crowley.

 

The last day of school brought joy for most pupils, but Crowley had conflicting feelings. Aziraphale came up to them to wish them happy holidays and hugged Anathema. He was a bit hesitant when he looked at Crowley, but when Crowley extended his hand, Aziraphale hugged him too. Crowley stood there mumbling something that resembled ‘Merry Christmas’. He walked home thinking about that hug with a smile on his face. He really could not stay angry with the blonde. He felt so generous that he even took back the banished plant into his room. Later that day, he got a text from Anathema, inviting him to go skating the next day. He felt like maybe things were looking up.

 

* * * * *

 

Crowley and Aziraphale were standing in front of Anathema’s door. Although Anathema didn’t say it explicitly, Crowley had a hunch that it wouldn’t be just the two of them. He rang the doorbell and hoped that Anathema was ready to go. Instead, she appeared in the door with a blanket around her shoulders and was blowing her nose furiously.

 

“Hello. Haven’t you two received my text?”

 

“What text?” Crowley asked suspiciously.

 

“Oh no, you haven’t… I texted you like an hour ago. I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t go. I caught a cold, and I feel like a lemon that’s been squeezed out.”

 

“I hope you feel better soon, dear,” Aziraphale said. “It would have been nice to go out, but we can always do it later.”

 

“No, why would you change your plans? You two go and have fun. It will get dark soon and the ice rink looks so lovely with all the fairy lights. Come on, don’t loiter here!” Anathema practically shooed the boys from her door, even though Crowley was giving her the ‘I’ll kill you next time’ glare. He just hoped that Aziraphale was fooled by her trick.

 

Crowley was walking with hunched-up shoulders, much too aware of the silence that was so difficult to break. He looked at Aziraphale, (well, from his point of view he was actually looking at the top of Aziraphale’s head, covered with that funny hat with reindeers on it), and wondered if it was a good idea for just the two of them to go. But he couldn’t bail out again.

 

“So, how was your first day of holiday?” Aziraphale asked.

 

“Nice. I could finally sleep in,” Crowley replied with relief. “Yours?”

 

Maybe it was some Christmas miracle, but the simple small talk turned into one of their usual conversations. Crowley found it so liberating that he could talk to Aziraphale openly yet again, and not worry about saying something silly. It even started snowing, so by the time they arrived to the ice rink, they were both in high spirits.

 

Anathema was right as always: the ice rink looked as a scene from a winter fairytale. There was a tall, golden Christmas tree and all around the rink electric blue fairy lights. Laughter and cheerful voices filled the air. Crowley wondered why he hadn’t visited before; it looked so fun! But after he put on his skates and entered the rink, he found out the answer to that question: he couldn’t stay on his feet for more than twenty seconds.

 

He was cursing under his breath as he flailed wildly with his arms like a nestling that was learning how to fly. Meanwhile, Aziraphale was skating like an expert, with a lot of skill and grace. He could even do pirouettes! Pirouettes! Oh, Anathema would have to pay for this humiliation. He had barely got up when Crowley felt that he would lose his balance again.

 

However, there was a glove-covered hand clasping his, that saved him from falling on his arse yet again. It was Aziraphale, of course, whose grin was just a tiny bit mocking.

 

“Don’t stand so rigidly, Crowley. Bend your knees a bit and use the inner edges of your skates. Extend your arms, it will help you with balancing.”

 

Aziraphale showed him the basics and Crowley practised beside the rink, gripping it from time to time when he felt that he was going to land on his backside. After ten minutes of practice, he managed to glide quite well and he grinned victoriously as he stopped in front of Aziraphale.

 

“Good job! Let’s go out in the open now.”

 

“Uhm, no, I’m fine here, but you go and do your pirouettes,” Crowley answered, but he had no time to protest.

 

Aziraphale took his hand and practically dragged Crowley with him. They were skating leisurely and Crowley felt safe, knowing that Aziraphale was so good at this. His arse was saved from more bruises. The tiny snowflakes were falling lazily over them and it was just too beautiful. Aziraphale seemed to enjoy himself even more with Crowley by his side, though once he pretended to have lost his balance, giving Crowley a minor heart attack and then laughing at his friend’s expression. He could be a right bastard, Crowley ascertained, but he just squeezed his hand tighter.

 

Feeling a little bold and giddy, Crowley thought he would take over the lead. It went well for about three seconds when suddenly, he slipped and fell down, dragging Aziraphale with him. They whined in pain at first, then laughed at Crowley’s clumsiness.

 

“You’re a lousy skater, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with a smile, as he was about to get up from his friend’s chest.

 

“You know, you can call me Anthony,” Crowley said and tugged at the string of Aziraphale’s hat.

 

He was admiring Aziraphale’s red nose and his sweet rosy cheeks and lovely blue eyes when suddenly, there were two gloved hands cupping his face and stroking his own cold cheeks. Crowley made a high-pitched sound as Aziraphale kissed him, the blonde chuckling as their lips parted. Crowley blinked a few times before he tugged again at the strings on Aziraphale’s hat, bringing him closer for more kisses.

 

“You know, we should really get up from the ice, Anthony,” Aziraphale whispered, but then he placed a frosty kiss on Crowley’s warm neck, between his jaw and scarf.

 

“How did you know…? Did she tell you?” Crowley asked, dazzled, and gripped Aziraphale’s hand as he tried to get up.

 

“Anathema? No. I just hoped that you liked me too, so I took my chance. Although, you know, sometimes the look in your eyes… that was what gave me hope.”

 

Crowley blushed. Anathema won again; if even Aziraphale noticed his moony eyes… he must have been really obvious. But did the blonde imply that he’d liked him for a while now? He had to find out more.

 

“How about we go and drink some hot chocolate and you can tell me more about your crush,” Crowley offered with an impish smile.

 

“Sounds good, but I think you will do most of the talking about _your_ crush.”

 

Crowley shook his head and laughed. “Okay, lead the way.”

 

As Aziraphale smiled at him with eyes brighter than the fairy lights, Crowley thought that no, a crush was not the end of the world, but rather the promise of a better one.


End file.
